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Finally, I wrap my hand around him, rewarded by a hiss when I do. I slide my grip down over his length. It’s easy enough thanks to the shower.
Watching the water streak down his abs, across my hand and him, is hypnotizing.
“Fuck,” he growls. I lick my lips, suddenly wondering how good I can make him feel.
When I glance up, his hair is soaked too, hanging in his face until he reaches up to shove it away.
“Stop.” Just when I’m starting to think he’s going to let me find out, he tugs my hand away.
“You don’t like it?”
“I do. But I’ve got plans for you.” He turns off the shower before hitching me up so my legs are around his waist. He carries me out of the shower, not bothering to stop for a towel on the way out. Over his shoulder, I can still see his jeans and shorts in a wet pile on the bath mat.
“Of course you do,” I mutter.
With his hands occupied holding me up, it’s my turn to go on offense. My greedy mouth slides to his jaw, his neck. When I nip at the side of his throat, I’m rewarded with a low curse.
We get halfway into the bedroom before Jameson sets me on the dresser, the edge digging into my ass. His fingers dimple the skin of my thighs, tracing a path that leads between them and has my breath catching.
It’s taking too long.
When he brushes where I ache, we both groan.
“You’re soaked,” he grits out.
“So are you.” My fingers dig into his bicep, his skin still damp from our shower.
There’s a light in the corner of the room and it’s not doing him enough justice. He’s gorgeous, every part of him.
“Shit.” He pulls back. It’s not the sexy curse from a moment ago, it’s a “this is bad” curse.
“What’s wrong?” I’m silently praying it’s nothing, because if we have to stop, I might actually die.
“My condoms are in my room. With my brother,” he says meaningfully.
I blink with comprehension. Going down to Theo’s room right now is a bad idea.
I shift out from under him to grab a condom from my bag. It falls out along with a wrench.
“I always keep condoms with my wrench set,” I say at his raised eyebrow.
“Always?” he challenges, but his eyes dance.
“Lately,” I admit. “In case.”
“In case of who?”
“You,” I breathe.
I’m a little embarrassed but the look on his face wipes it away.
He takes the packet from me and tears into it, rolling it on without breaking my gaze.
“In case we were just working and lost control and I had to fuck you right that second?” Jameson leans in, his mouth hot against the shell of my ear.
“Maybe.”
His words are a drug. It’s like every single part of Jameson Ashford is purpose-built to turn me on, to wreck every one of my protests.
